He Must Keep His Distance
by eccentricpetal
Summary: Why is Molly Hooper really the uncounted one?


**He Must Keep His Distance.**

**Authors Note: **Like my first 'Sherlock' fanfiction this is inspired by Christina Perri and her wondrous song '_Distance_.' I haven't got much to say about it, it's just something that came in to my head whilst I was listening to this song a couple days ago. So, please do enjoy and review!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Sherlock is solely owned by all those who created it and, sadly, I am not one of them.  
>_<p>

"_Please, don't stand so close to me; I'm having trouble breathing.  
>I'm afraid of what you'll see, right now.<br>I'll give you everything I am, all my broken heartbeats,  
>Until I know you'll understand.<br>And, I will make sure to keep my distance.  
>Say 'I love you' when you're not listening.<br>And how long can we keep this up?" _

Standing on the roof top of St. Bart's, listening to Moriarty rattle off the three names, of the three, who would die if Sherlock Holmes did not take that leap of death, he silently thanked God – if he did exist – that there wasn't a fourth victim on that list.

You see, Sherlock was not a heartless bastard like the world seemed so desperate to believe.

He cared.

He just hid it well.

Or, so he thought.

After all, there were still three others who were due to die because of his feelings for them.

But, it wasn't _her. _

He had assumed she would never be a part of this game with Moriarty.

He'd done a precise job of not showing that he cared for her.

He'd made sure she would always go uncounted.

Why?

Because he knew.

Knew what?

He knew that in this line of _business, _he'd have enemies and he would _never _risk the chance of them using her to get at him.

He wasn't quite sure what he would do if they did, and that was a dangerous truth.

So, he pushed his feelings aside in order to protect her from his world of death and danger.

But, just every now and then, there would come a time where he could change her status of 'uncounted.' He could make her feel wanted, needed even. He could make her feel _special. _He could show her a minute amount of what their world could be like if he wasn't Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective.

And that was what he had done the night before as he stood there, on the roof of St. Bart's hospital.

He had made her strong.

She had practically glowed in front of him.

He could only think of a few times when she had ever been so radiant, that he nearly found himself giving in and forgetting who he was, all so he could _have _her.

He'd done it last night, when he had stepped closer to her and whispered the single word: "you," but of course, he saved himself quickly and unnoticed by her. After all, he couldn't have her if she was dead and he'd rather not risk having a world without her just because he gave in to his _needs_.

That was weak.

He'd never be weak; he'd never be weak for _her. _

Another time he had nearly given in was at that blasted Christmas party John and Mrs Hudson had thrown.

She'd taken her coat off and he swore his heart stopped, only for a millisecond, but it stopped alright.

She was beautiful.

She actually took his breath away.

He had been tempted to just kiss her and take her away to his room, and do unmentionable things to her.

Instead, he had turned up the coldness and tore her to pieces, all the while keeping his distance from her.

He knew if he didn't, those unmentionable things would have been inevitable.

But, he'd taken it too far.

He watched her break before him.

He thought that perhaps he was a heartless bastard, after all.

So, he had done the one thing he could think off.

He kissed her cheek, fighting the urge to make it her lips, and said sorry.

He saw her entire form warm; the glow coming back to her.

He'd left after that; he couldn't handle being so close to her.

He took the present in toe and after reading the label, for what appeared to be the hundredth time, he whispered to his empty room "I love you."

He's mind slipping back to the here and now, he watched as Moriarty pulled the trigger of his gun and slipped to the floor, as if he were nothing but a child's rag doll.

He didn't have much time before his plan truly took shape and as he made the decision to go through with it, his thoughts wandered back to her and the reason he had even decided to involve her in the game as his silent weapon.

They had been in the lab the day before this and he was trying to ignore her presence beside him as he worked, when she begun to make conversation with him.

He'd tried to brush her off, to make her think he didn't want to speak to her, but she had continued rattling on about her father.

She had then said it.

She had seen through his show.

A show he had forgotten was not just for John.

He'd stopped what he was doing and simply took her in.

She was radiating that heart breaking glow again.

She was confident.

She was strong.

And he had wanted to simply take her in his arms and make it known to her.

But, he hadn't.

John was only across the room; he didn't want to share a moment with her in front of him.

He was glad John stopped him, afterwards.

She may have been on that list now, if he hadn't.

As Sherlock stood on the ledge of St. Bart's looking down at John, he wondered if he'd have really rang John if he were about to die… or if he would have rang _her_.

He knew the answer as he stepped off that ledge.

He would have rang John still.

He would have left her in the dark.

Why?

Because he knew.

Knew what?

He knew it would hurt her to know his feelings for her and then to never get to act upon them.

He wouldn't want her to live the rest of her life in wonder of what could have been.

He'd keep his distance from her up until his final breath.

He'd never tell her that she glows; that she makes him believe that there's a higher power in this world.

He'd never tell her that she's strong.

He'd never tell her that she's beautiful.

He'd never tell her he was in love with her.

He'd continue being in the background of her life, trying to save her from as much hurt as possible, in the most indifferent ways he could.

He'd let the rest of the world think she did not count while he knew the truth.

Yes, that's right, Molly Hooper counted to him and that's why he must keep his distance.

**Authors Note: **I hope you enjoyed that. I had fun writing it, I shall't lie. It could have been better but I tried to write what came from my heart as if I were Sherlock Holmes. To be quite honest, even if Sherlock isn't in love with Molly, I could see this being how his love life turns out. I think it would be the sweetest thing, ever. Anyways, reviews are ever welcome. Constructive criticism, too; I'd like some tips on how I could write a more convincing portrayal of a certain Holmes (no, not Mycroft!)

Petal.


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